The Bridenapping
by EnamoradaConDios
Summary: Evelyn Hammilton has found the man that God wants her to marry, and it is definitely not Sam Rutherford, despite her parents' insisting. But when Sam kidnaps her, will Chris be able to find his future wife? Chapter 6 is up, please R&R!
1. A Proposal

"Will you marry me?"

"Uh… I… um…," Evelyn stammered uncomfortably, looking down at one Samuel Rutherford on bended knee. He beamed up at her, his hands holding a very expensive-looking diamond ring begging to be worn. The two were surrounded by smiling family and friends who awaited the "yes" that Evelyn couldn't seem to form.

_This is wrong, _a small voice spoke to her heart as her mind raced wildly, trying to pinpoint any indication she had ever given that would have led him to believe she wished to marry him. She had known from the start that Sam was not the man God was planning for her, so she had always been quite clear that she enjoyed their _friendship; _nothing more.

But Sam, apparently, had other ideas.

"She's speechless!" Evelyn heard someone gasp. Out of the corner of her eye she saw it was her mother, trying desperately to cover up this obvious social blunder. The rest of the room was still silent, waiting for her answer. "Um…," she offered helplessly, praying for a solution.

"It's alright," Sam said, standing and flashing the room a confident, pearly-white smile. "I can see the answer in her eyes."

Evelyn felt her face grow red as he shoved the ring onto her finger and kissed her cheek. "Come outside with me," he muttered, taking her hand and leading her toward the doorway to fresh air. Their confused audience applauded out of politeness, and the party resumed as Sam and Evelyn escaped to his parents' beautiful balcony.

"What's wrong?" he questioned her, confusion crossing his light blue eyes.

"Sam… when did I give you the impression that I wanted to marry you?"

Sam's eyes flashed a look of shock. "It is _obvious, _Evelyn, that we are to be married," he said. "Our fathers are business partners, our families are high society… whom else would you marry?"

Evelyn sighed. "Sam, did God lead you to ask me to marry you tonight?"

"What do you mean…? Evelyn, He doesn't have to. Look, you put a lot of stock in what the Bible says, I know, dear." His voice had taken somewhat of a condescending tone. "But think of it – it's like we were betrothed since we were young children and our fathers decided to build their own law firm together. Just like Mary and Joseph were betrothed. So of course God would want us to be married."

Evelyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Sam," she started. "I do not feel that God has set us apart for each other, and that's what matters. You're a great guy, but I just do not feel that this is right."

"No, Evelyn." Sam was becoming angry now. He ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair in frustration. "You do not know what you are talking about. Do you have any idea how much I spent on that ring?"

"Here," Evelyn said, slipping it off her finger and holding it out to him. "Return it. Please. I'm sorry for any confusion I've caused you."

Sam scowled at it, then snatched it from her. Evelyn silently thanked God that He was not calling her to put up with his temper for the rest of her life.

"I will be speaking to my father about this…," Sam growled threateningly as Evelyn left him and reentered the building. She quickly found her mother, who squeezed her shoulders and gave her a kiss on each cheek.

"Congratulations, darling!" Jacqueline, Evelyn's mother, exclaimed. "Have you two decided on a date?" Her eyes flashed suddenly as her daughter held up her left hand, now void of a ring. "Evelyn," she said sternly, looking around to make sure this wasn't overheard, "this is not a good family to cross."

"I understand, Mother," Evelyn replied, "but I simply cannot. I must leave now, forgive me." She was not sure what to say to her parents, but she was certain they wouldn't understand her true reasons for not marrying Sam. At the moment, she just needed to get out.

"Evelyn!" Jacqueline called sharply to her daughter's retreating back. This was awful news. It would undoubtedly put strain on the business relationship, and David, Jacqueline's husband, would be displeased to say the least. Evelyn, Jacqueline knew, _needed _to marry Samuel. The family's reputation depended on it.

But Evelyn ignored her and continued on her way out. Of course she understood the gravity of the situation, but she could not bring herself to marry anyone but the man God was planning for her. Still, her cheeks burned as she made her way through the masses, who tried in vain to stop her to find out what was going on. But no one could stop her tonight; she needed out. She was going home.

**Author's Note: **So? What do you think? Let me know if you like it; if I get enough support, I will continue!

Top of Form


	2. Whoever She Was

Christopher Reeves drummed his fingers on his desk as he waited for the Beaufort report. The situation had been tricky: James Beaufort, a well-respected member of the community, had been accused of domestic abuse by a neighbor who had heard the noises. When he had sent officers to investigate, however, the wife refused to tell them anything, and there were no physical afflictions that they could see besides a cut under her eye; she told them the cut was from a tree branch. A few months later, the neighbor had called again.

"Listen, I know I've called you guys before," she had begun nervously, "but there are some really bad noises coming from the Beaufort house tonight. I mean, these are bad. I'm just afraid somebody's gonna be seriously injured this time…."

Chris had sent four officers to check things out, and now, as they had just returned, he waited for them to type up their report and bring it to him.

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Things were fairly quiet around the city lately; the rest of the squad were out patrolling, except, of course, for the four officers doing the report. It was taking them a relatively long time, which led Chris to assume there was a lot of detail. He let his mind wander, thinking about the upcoming bills he would soon need to pay, the pile of laundry that awaited his attention at home, the last conversation he had had with his mother.

"Chris, honey, do you pray for your future wife?" Her voice floated into his head, and he felt the Spirit stir in his heart. At 30, he had never thought much about marriage, but had always figured that God would bring the right woman to him when the time was right… if the time ever was right. There were times when he entertained the idea of remaining single all his life, but he had never been quite sure whether God was calling him one way or the other. Waiting, he figured, would be the best option.

But the topic had become a favorite of his mother's. As she lived about a thousand miles away, their last conversation had taken place over the telephone. "You should really start praying for your wife, you know," she had told him. "It's an important thing to do."

"Mom, I don't have time to think about marriage right now. Besides, there aren't a whole lot of women who would want to marry a cop anymore," he had replied, but the Spirit had moved in his heart nonetheless.

Particularly now, he felt a strong pull to pray for her, whoever she was. Leaning back a little farther, he tipped his head back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. _Lord, _he began, _I don't know Your plans for my future, but if they include a wife, I pray you watch over her. Grow her into the woman you want her to be, and give her wisdom and the strength to do Your will. Help her—_

"Chief?" Collins interrupted, poking his head through Chris's door. "We have that report ready."

"Good," Chris replied, sitting forward again. "Go ahead and leave it on my desk. How'd it go?"

"Difficult," Collins replied grimly, striding across the office to place the report on Chris's desk. "He was hittin' her, alright. It was pretty ugly by the time we got there. She'd lost quite a bit of blood from a head wound, so we called an ambulance. Not sure if she'll make it. We called child services; they picked up the two kids. It's a shame… they can't be any older than six…."

"Thanks, Collins," Chris said. "How'd the rookie do?"

"Pretty well. You were right about him; good instincts. He'll do fine here."

"Good. Your shift's over for the night, Collins. Go ahead and go home."

The officer nodded his thanks and left the office. Chris tried not to envy him; he himself had a night shift that night. Since he had nothing else to do for the moment, he leaned back in his chair again and, at the Spirit's leading, continued to pray for his future wife—whoever she was.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Many thanks to noaithahsmi and Raven Craft for the encouraging reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter -- leave reviews and let me know! 


	3. Help From a Friend

Evelyn prayed the whole way home, which really only happened to be about a five minute drive from the Rutherford Estate, and three of those five minutes were spent identifying herself to the complex security system at the front gate. "The Gates of Heaven," Jacqueline had affectionately dubbed them due to their magnificent pearly-gold appearance. As they gracefully slid out in front of her, Evelyn looked up at her childhood home. Three stories tall, the house was large enough to fit a small airport inside it with room to spare. The outside color matched that of the gates with perhaps a twinge of soft pink. A few dozen gardeners were hired to daily tend to the lawn, giving it a rich green color bursting with flowers and shrubbery in shades of pink, lilac, and blue. It was beautiful.

And Evelyn hated it. To her, the estate represented her broken childhood in which she was never hugged, never permitted to show emotion, and her despairing teenage years in which her fall into anorexia was encouraged until her older sister died from the same disease (her parents told everyone it was pneumonia). It was the place where she learned as a child to ruthlessly taunt "society's worst blemishes," who happened to be people with fragile hearts she later realized she had helped to crush. It was there she learned that she must be perfect in every way so someday she could meet a rich man and beguile him into marrying her, therefore ensuring that she would stay rich and "happy" and raise children to be the same as she had been: a selfish and prideful on the outside and desperate for love on the inside.

When she had turned her life over to the Lord five years earlier, He changed all that. Not all at once, but slowly, over time, one could see a very significant difference. With the help of her best friend Bobbie Faye, whose faithful friendship had led her to the Lord, God had changed her over the years to be less selfish and made her kinder, more compassionate. Right now, Bobbie Faye was helping her work on her gossiping tongue, a temptation that sought her almost daily.

Engine still idling just inside the gate, Evelyn realized a visit to Bobbie Faye's was just what she needed. She certainly did not want to wait around to face her parents: her mother's overdramatic bewilderment, her father's outrage, both parents' "how-could-you-betray-the-family" spiels.

"No, thank you," she muttered as she turned around in the circular part of the driveway and passed through the exit gate. She took a right and drove toward the other side of town. Along the way, she commanded, "Call Bobbie Faye" to her hands-free car phone.

"Evieeee!" came her friend's excited squeal after a few rings. "Hey girl, you need me to bail you out of that stuffy party?"

"Already bailed," she replied as she pulled up to a red light.

"So soon? What happened?"

"Wait'll you hear. You won't believe it."

"Evie, you're not gossipin' to me, are you?"

"There's too much going on to gossip about people tonight. This is big."

"You sound freaked."

"That's because I am. I'm fifteen minutes away from your place. See you soon?"

"I'll be there. Drive safely."

Evelyn continued toward the "shady part of town," as her parents liked to call it. It was actually a very decent, middle-class area, but any neighborhood that was home to a garage that held less than three cars was automatically considered "shady." David and Jacqueline certainly did not approve of Evelyn's relationship to Bobbie Faye and had taken to calling her a "dumb hick" behind closed doors. To their friends, though, they referred to her as Evelyn's "charity work." Rather than harm their friendship, however, it had fortunately become a sort of inside joke between them. Bobbie Faye was too proud of her simple southern roots to let that kind of thing bother her.

_Besides, _Evelyn thought to herself as she parked in the apartment building's guest lot, _I've always seen Bobbie Faye as a southern belle rather than a hick. _

As if to prove her point, the door to Bobbie Faye's second-floor apartment flew open before Evelyn had even reached the stairs. Bobbie Faye burst through the doorway, her big green eyes sparkling under frizzy blonde hair that she had attempted to pull back into a half-ponytail. Tight curls had slipped through the scrunchie, framing her round face currently splattered with bright oranges, greens, and yellows. The paint splotches continued downward, decorating faded overalls and a red-and-purple striped T-shirt. "Guess what!" she giggled down to Evelyn.

"You got into a fight with Leonardo DaVinci," Evelyn guessed as she began climbing the stairs.

"Nooo…."

"Alright, what?" she couldn't help but smile as she reached the top and saw once again the contagious excitement on her friend's face.

"I'm painting! Come see." Bobbie Faye ushered her inside. Her small living room was covered in clear plastic tarp – even the floor, Evelyn noticed, careful to avoid staining her good shoes with the various globs of paint that littered the tarp.

"Wow," Evelyn breathed as she looked up. The canvas was large, standing on the floor and reaching more than halfway up the walls, spreading five or six feet wide. It made Bobbie Faye look shorter than usual in her 5'2" frame. "You did all this tonight?"

"Sure did," Bobbie Faye answered. "I was thinking about the night that you accepted Jesus, and it inspired me, so I went out and bought the canvas and started paintin'!"

"You amaze me," Evelyn said, shaking her head. The painting was of the bridge illustration, a tool that Bobbie had used to explain the message of salvation to Evelyn the night she had finally accepted Christ. It was essentially a picture of Romans 6:23, which Evelyn read out loud from the top of the canvas: "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord."

Bobbie Faye finished the quote with her, then smiled. "That was such an exciting night," she remembered. "I had been workin' on you for a whole year! It's been so good to watch God change you. Now," she continued before Evelyn could comment, "enough of this. Come sit in the bedroom with me where there isn't tarp everywhere. What's got you so freaked?"

Evelyn followed her into the bedroom and explained.


	4. David's Verdict

"Girl, you better get your hiney outta bed."

"Huh…?" Evelyn peered up from her down pillow encased in lilac linens now covered with drool. _I must've slept well, _she thought, wiping excess moisture from her lips.

"I said, get your little white hiney outta bed, girl! Your daddy wants to see you. I don't know what you did, but he mad atcha. Pacin' around his study all furious… what you groanin' and hidin' for? You _must _be in trouble. What'd you do?" Mamma Loretta, Evelyn's favorite maid, stood over the bed with a look of concern over her plump, matronly features.

Evelyn threw the covers back down, sat up, and grunted a soft "Ha!" "Are you sure you want to know, Mamma Loretta?"

"Of course I wanna know! You think I ask just to hear myself talk?"

Evelyn couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. There was no beating around the bush with Mamma Loretta. "Dad's business partner's son asked me to marry him last night."

"That little rat-faced white boy? Don't even _tell _me you said yes to him!"

Evelyn giggled. Sam was attractive in his own right, but he did have a bit of a ratlike look to him. His personality certainly did nothing to help that. "Of course not, Mamma. You know I'm waiting on God's direction."

" 'Someday my prince will come,' " she quoted. "That was your favorite movie when you was a little girl. I must've rewound that thing a thousand times for you."

"Unfortunately, that 'someday' is not today," Evelyn replied, "so I'd better get down there before he loses his patience."

"Got that right," Mamma Loretta said as she finished putting away some laundry and started to leave the room. "Good luck."

Evelyn showered and dressed, careful to apply just the right amount of makeup and hairspray before leaving the bedroom. "Nice girls never leave their bedrooms undressed," Jacqueline always said, and "undressed" meant anything below perfection. Rebelling against this or any Hammilton standard in even the slightest way would only make matters worse.

She had realized that last night at Bobbie Faye's apartment. They had spent hours talking until it was two o'clock in the morning and Bobbie Faye suggested she go home to sleep. "They won't appreciate you being out this late on my side of town, let alone spending the whole night. You know you still have to honor your parents even if they are… well, you know." Then they spent another hour deciding what "honoring" them truly meant, finally agreeing that she needed to follow their rules as best as possible while still under their roof, but that God's rules took first priority (which meant, thankfully, that she did not have to marry Sam even if her parents insisted). Not for the first time, Evelyn had considered moving out.

She made her way across the white carpet to the winding, almost sickeningly ornate staircase and descended one story to her father's study. The study was really more of a library; David owned a very successful law firm and therefore needed to keep many law books on hand. A large desk sat in front of the bay window in the center back of the room, and a tall, slender man in his early fifties stood in front of it. The man's sleek black hair had begun years earlier to show streaks of gray, which served only to make him seem wiser and more in control. He would have been very handsome had Evelyn ever had the opportunity to see him smile. At the moment his steel-gray eyes were piercing Evelyn's deep blue ones with more intensity than usual. Evelyn promptly dropped hers to the floor, as was proper etiquette in their home.

"Evelyn. Where were you last night?"

_Lord, help me to be honest and respectful,_ she quickly prayed before answering. "I was with Bobbie Faye in her apartment, sir."

"And what time did you decide to grace our home with your presence again?"

"I was home late, Father. I apologize."

"I asked for a specific time, Evelyn."

"Forgive me, Father. I came home at three-thirty this morning, sir." For once she was glad he forbade eye contact, for she was positive a visible wince had crossed her face as she answered that time.

"Evelyn, that is entirely inappropriate, especially in that part of town. You may not stay out there past nine, for your own safety. I am quite positive your fiancé would agree."

Evelyn's head snapped up. "Fiancé?!" she exclaimed incredulously, momentarily forgetting etiquette.

Her father didn't seem to mind this time. "Yes, I hear congratulations are in order. Samuel was vastly disappointed after the scene you made last night, but I assured him you were simply seeking attention and that you were preparing to accept his proposal later this week. Was I mistaken?"

Evelyn couldn't say anything, only gape and stammer in bewilderment.

"Good, then. You are excused." David turned his back on his daughter to go back to work.

"Wait… no! I mean…." She took a deep breath. "Father, sir, I cannot marry Samuel."

"Of course you can. You have my blessing. I have arranged for Samuel to take you on a date – chaperoned, of course – on Friday. That gives you six days to work out an explanation for him."

Evelyn closed her eyes and took another deep breath, attempting to keep her head clear. "Father," she started, trying desperately to keep the tremor out of her voice, "I mean, I must be honest with you, sir, I respect you and Mother, but I must honor what God says before I honor what you say, and I do not think…"

"Nonsense," her father interrupted. "You will accept Samuel's proposal on Friday evening or there will be… consequences. Now, you are dismissed."

"I…."

"You are dismissed."

"But sir…."

"You are _dismissed, _Evelyn!" he finally snapped, dropping the calm façade. Dumbfounded, Evelyn quietly slipped out of the study without another word.

**Author's Note: **Well, I'd apologize for waiting like two years to update this story, but by now I probably have a new audience entirely, so whatev. Anyway, I love reviews, so tell me what you think! Hopefully there will be a new chapter soon, "soon" meaning before the next two years… haha 


	5. Litter Bugs

**Author's Note: **Thanks to fictionluvr and LadyoftheCelticLand for reviewing! I appreciate your enthusiasm. Don't worry, there will be more Chris-action later, probably next chapter. Enjoy this one!

"So you're not going to marry rich because God told you not to?"

"I didn't say God told me not to marry rich."

"Just not Sam Rutherford?"

"He's not the one. Or maybe he is, and it's just not the right time."

Evelyn was taking a stroll along the small man-made lake that lay in the center of her subdivision. Her childhood friend Bridgette Marksson walked beside her, discussing the wild turn of events from the past couple of days. Dusk had fallen, the sunset's last few streaks of orange retreating behind the trees on the far side of the water, but Evelyn was permitted outside since this was the "safe part of town" and she was with "good company."

Not that she minded being with Bridgette. They had been friends since they were three, when their mothers had met at a country club.

"You know, there's something I just don't understand about you," Bridgette said, a thoughtful look on her face that told Evelyn she was breaking out of her dumb-blonde routine, something she only did around her. It was a shame, really; Bridgette had a brilliant mind.

"And what's that, 'Jette?"

"You're always talking about being kind to everyone, no matter what. Not discriminating based on social standing or political power or whatnot. And you say it's God who's changed you like this, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, how does the same God discriminate based on religion? You say He loves everyone regardless, but then you say that He won't let anyone into heaven unless they're Christian. It doesn't make sense, doesn't… fit."

Evelyn fell silent for a moment. It was a good question. "Well," she began slowly, "I suppose it's not really about religion. I mean, religion is good in its proper context. But what God really cares about is a relationship with Jesus Christ."

"So anyone can go to heaven as long as they believe in Jesus."

"Not necessarily. The Bible says that even the demons in hell _believe _in Jesus. But the whole reason that Christ came to die for us is so that we could have a relationship with God. Not just religion, but a relationship."

"And that's the other thing. You're always talking about the Bible as if it were infallible. How can you be so sure it was 'given by inspiration of God,' as you always say, when you _know _it was written by men?"

"The Bible says all Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and it's profitable for doctrine, reproof, correction, instruction in righteous—"

"Evie, you can't say something is true just because it says it's true. You need outside evidence."

Evelyn smiled. "Sometimes you're just too smart for me, 'Jette," she said, nudging her in the ribs. "I've read up on the archaeological evidence and such, and I suppose I should work harder to remember it all, but it's so complicated to me. But the one thing I _do_ know is that any book that could change my life the way the Bible has must be divinely inspired. Remember all those self-help books I used to read, the tactics I used to try? None of it even came close. I—"

"Shh!" Bridgette had stopped suddenly. Evelyn gave her a questioning look, but her gaze was fixed at a spot on the other side of the lake. Following it, she finally realized what had stopped her friend in her tracks: Three men stood on the perfectly manicured grass, preparing to throw a very large and bulky bundle into the lake. Evelyn made a noise of disgust.

"What do they think this is, a garbage dump? That's our lake! He—!" She started to call out to the men, but Bridgette clamped a hand over her mouth.

_"That's a body, stupid!"_ she whispered harshly. "Don't call their attention over here, we need to—"

"Oh, come on, that is _not _a body, 'Jette. Honestly, you watch too much T.V."

"Ev, I know what I'm talking about. Please, let's leave, before they see us!" Bridgette's voice had taken a pleading tone, and Evelyn noticed her hands had begun to tremble.

"Calm down, Bridgette," she said soothingly. "Listen, why would three grown men dump a body in _our _lake? And at dusk, too? Why not wait till the middle of the night when no one's around? Or go find a neighborhood that's not full of nosy housewives!" she chuckled as she finished.

"I don't know, Ev, but please, let's just go."

Grudgingly, Evelyn obliged. "Okay, but you're going to feel pretty stupid in the morning when there's litter all over the lake and we could have stopped it…."

***

Meanwhile, on the other side of the lake, three men prepared to quietly slide a woman's body into the water. James Beaufort, the ringleader of the three, had poisoned his wife Susan earlier that evening. It was a chemical that he himself had concocted: colorless, odorless, and traceless. Traceless, that is, if the body was left in the water overnight. True, it was a risky thing to do at dusk, but he needed that body to stay there for at least ten hours, if not twelve. He and his, ahem, "hired help" had made sure to carefully wipe any trace of evidence that could lead back to them. It mainly meant wiping fingerprints, since the slip of a small drop of poison into her wine that evening had left no signs of struggle. Susan had passed away quietly, seconds after he told her what was happening to her just so that he could relish in the look of horror on her face. Tomorrow evening he would call in a missing persons report for his beloved wife he loved so dearly, oh how he wished she would just come home safe and sound!

James began rolling the body, wrapped in a large bag filled with heavy stones, down the slight slope toward the lake. All they had to do now was make sure they were not se—

"Mr. Beaufort!" It was Danny who whispered urgently to his boss. He was a skittish kid, no more than nineteen, just trying to make some money; something about a sick mother.

"What is it, kid?"

"There's some people over there, sir. I think they saw us." He was pointing across the water and to the left; as James looked, a couple of women had begun to walk away from the lake and toward the neighborhood. Squinting, he noticed one of them looked slightly familiar. He couldn't quite place her, though.

"I'll go take care of them," a deep voice muttered to his left. Slammer, a large, muscular bounty hunter started off around the lake, his large hand reaching for one of the guns on his belt.

"Stop!" James whispered, frustrated. "You can't just go shooting a couple of twenty-somethings in the middle of this neighborhood. My lawyer isn't _that_ good, bro."

Although he must admit he was proud of how he had curtailed the man into helping him. It was terribly easy; he simply had to threaten to tell the son-of-a-gun's wife that he had been cheating on her with his Susan. Then he did everything and anything James asked him.

"You – you're just gonna let them… let them squeal on us?" Danny whimpered, his thin face beginning to perspire.

"Don't be an idiot," James snapped. "It's too dark out here, and we're in the shadows. There's no way they can tell who we are or what we're doing. Let's just drop this thing in and get out of here."

Still, Danny's question nagged at him for the rest of the night.


	6. Terrible Schemes

Chris raised an eyebrow as Officer Stephen Williams finished speaking. "So you're telling me," he started incredulously, "that after last week's fiasco, Susan Beaufort actually went back to her husband, he killed her the next night, and now he has the audacity to call her in missing?"

"Well, we don't have any solid evidence he killed her, but…"

"…but it's pretty obvious," Chris finished with him. "What kind of leads do we have so far?"

"One Bridgette Marksson. Said she and a friend witnessed the body dumping in their neighborhood's lake yesterday evening."

"He dumped the body in a lake in the middle of suburbia? What an idiot," Chris remarked, then mentally kicked himself, remembering how Jesus equated name-calling to murder. _How ironic, _he thought. _I'm no better than James Beaufort himself, am I? Lord Jesus, thank you for saving my sinful soul. _"So you got her statement last night, then?"

"Earlier this morning. The friend that was with her convinced her not to call it in last night; she figured it was just trash they were dumping and that maintenance would get it later today."

Chris shook his head. He had to wonder if being chief of police had made him terribly cynical or if some people were just plain naïve. "Who's the friend?" he asked, searching his overwhelmingly unorganized desk for a pen and pad of paper.

"Evelyn Hammilton."

Chris's head snapped up. "David Hammilton's daughter?" He groaned at Williams's nod. David Hammilton was a defense attorney with a knack for setting the guilty free – and an attitude problem to boot. He was not looking forward to speaking with his daughter. Hoping to pass it off, he asked Williams if he was busy that day.

"Swamped, sir," was the reply, and Chris detected a hint of anxiety in his voice. The Hammilton reputation was certainly intimidating at best.

"Alright, go ahead and get to work. Make sure someone's communicating with St. Joseph's morgue. And see if we can't get at least a search warrant on Beaufort."

"On it, sir," Williams said, this time with a tone of relief, and strode from Chris's office.

It looked like it was going to be up to Chris to talk to the Hammilton girl.

Great.

***

Oscar Fredrickson checked his watch as he pulled the large, industrial mop bucket across the linoleum of the basement floor right outside the mailroom. Six thirty. He should have been home by now, enjoying dinner with his family like most employees were, but there had been an unusual amount of backed-up toilets and even a couple of vomit sites to take care of in the past few hours. And he was only halfway through his closing routine.

But he smiled sweetly as he thought of Marilyn, his wife of forty-seven years. He had worked himself to the bone to support her since he was a young man. Thinking of her gave him the willpower to slosh his bucket over one more floor this evening, long after everyone else had left.

"She saw him dumping the body. We need to do something with her."

The voice, hushed but clipped, wafted over to Oscar before he had a chance to even grab his mop. He had heard several men talking, but it hadn't grabbed his attention until now, as he was not usually one to eavesdrop. But something about this particular conversation made him pause. It was strange, now that he thought of it: A few men meeting in the mailroom long after the minimum-wage workers were supposed to have gone home. That never happened; if one needed a private meeting, one held it in his office with the door closed. Apparently these men were serious about not being overheard.

That fact alone made Oscar nervous, but it sounded as though a woman was in danger. Maybe, if he got enough information, he could prevent her from being harmed.

"Just don't kill her," another voice said. This one sounded younger, loftier. "I want her for my wife. You can kill the other girl, just keep Evelyn for me."

"Relax," a third man said. "You will get your woman. If you comply with us, you will have plenty of time to coerce her."

"Focus, gentlemen," the first voice clipped. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We need to find a place to keep them."

_They're planning a kidnapping, _Oscar realized. Two women, Evelyn and "the other girl," as Lofty had put it. That was enough information for him; he was not foolish enough to stay any longer lest they decided to check for eavesdroppers. Slowly, quietly, he slipped from the hallway leading to the mailroom and headed for the police station, informing the head janitor that he needed to take care of something and would be back in an hour to finish cleaning for the night. His boss, knowing Oscar's work ethic to be golden, merely smiled and wished him luck.

***

As it turned out, Williams had not been simply making excuses; the station really was swamped that day. Before Chris knew it, it was seven o'clock and he still had not made it to the Hammilton residence. He generally did not like going to question witnesses at such a late hour; interrupting family dinners made for disgruntled witnesses, and disgruntled witnesses were less inclined to comply. But the urgency of a homicide investigation compelled him.

The autopsy had revealed practically nothing. Susan Beaufort had died of suffocation, but they couldn't figure out what had caused it. There were no bruises, no blood or skin in her fingernails, no signs of struggle whatsoever. Doctors suspected poison, but there were no traces of anything in her system. Chris was beginning to wonder what kind of connections Mr. Beaufort had with the black market.

Checking the digital clock on his desk, Chris realized he had wasted ten more minutes musing to himself. _Focus, dude, _he scolded himself as he began gathering his things. The doctors would figure out the manner of death in due time. Right now he needed to focus on the task at hand. Before he could make his way out the door, however, it flung open, and a man of about seventy came rushing through it.

"I… can I help you?" Chris stammered in bewilderment.

The man nodded. "My name is Oscar Fredrickson," he began breathlessly.

"Mr. Fredrickson, did you run here?"

"Yes, from work about five blocks away."

Chris was astonished. The man was thin and frail; he would never have guessed that Oscar Fredrickson could run much more than half a block. "I'll tell you what," he said. "I've got something I need to do right now, so I will give you a ride back to work if you tell me what is so urgent on the way there."

Oscar agreed, and they left.

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all who reviewed: fictionluvr, Chocolate Lover, and Mercyette on fictionpress and LadyoftheCelticLand on fanfiction. I also want to mention my husband; his loving support and encouragement means the world to me and helps me move this thing along!

Other than that… if you have been reading and not reviewing, PLEASE review?? I'd love to hear what you think and if you think I can improve it in any way, shape, or form.


	7. Interrupted Plans

_"They were planning to kidnap someone. A young woman."_

_"Who? Did you get a name?"_

_"Evelyn. Didn't hear a last name, though. You'll help her, right?"_

Chris went over the conversation with Oscar several times on the way to the Hammilton's. The concern in Oscar's voice pained him; he wasn't sure if they could prevent anything without knowing exactly whom they were planning to take.

Evelyn. How many young women named Evelyn could there be in the area? It was an older name, so probably not many. And the fact that this girl had recently seen someone dumping a body certainly narrowed it down. There was probably enough evidence to do some surveillance on her and begin looking for suspects. He would have to send someone to the law office the next day to get a list of workers and ask around, see if anyone saw people leaving late. He would also send someone to get an official statement from Oscar Fredrickson.

_Looks like we have plenty to discuss tonight, _he mused to himself as he pulled up to the gates of a large, beautiful estate. He checked the address. This was it.

"State your name, please," a very proper-sounding woman answered when he rang the bell.

"Christopher Reeves."

The woman paused. "I don't take kindly to jokes," she continued skeptically.

"This is not a joke, ma'am. I'm with the police department; I need to speak with Evelyn Hammilton." He showed his badge to the security camera as he spoke, and there was another long pause.

"Very well," she said finally, and the gates slowly spread open. "Drive straight forward and park in the second garage to the right."

Chris snorted as he drove ahead, hating the injustice of this: David Hammilton spat out lies for a living, and here was his reward. _His daughter must be spoiled rotten_, he thought, once again bracing himself for a terrible evening. He parked and made his way toward the front door. Whoever did the gardening surely knew what he was doing, Chris had to admit. Flowers of every kind in hues of soft pink, lavender, and ivory decorated the stone walkway to the door. It would have been quite enticing had Chris not been dreading every step.

The front door opened swiftly after one knock, and a thin, frail-looking maid appeared in front of him. "Good evening, Mr. Reeves." It was the voice from the gate. "Please, come in and sit down. Miss Hammilton will be with you shortly."

"Thank you," Chris replied, and the maid led him into a high-ceilinged room filled with white carpet and overly ornate furniture. _What a waste, _he thought to himself, amused. _If I had this much money, I'd make this a bowling alley._

He sat down on a terribly uncomfortable armchair the maid pointed out to him before excusing herself to find Evelyn. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and prayed that she would be cooperative. It then occurred to him that maybe he should not be so judgmental. After all, he had never met the girl, just her father. Then there was the fact that as a Christian, he was supposed to exercise loving compassion toward those without Christ in their lives. He sighed.

"It is a rather boring room, isn't it?" a soft voice echoed slightly as it filled the room.

Startled, Chris leapt to his feet. "I'm sorry, Miss..."

He stopped. It was the first time he could ever remember losing his head on the job. The first thing he noticed was what he least expected: The small pocket Bible in her left hand, a slender finger marking her spot. Then he noticed the way she dressed, trendy but modest, midriff completely covered, contrary to the fashion choice of almost every young woman in the area. He noticed she was slightly taller than average, slender, fair skinned. Soft chestnut waves framed her delicate face beautifully, and freckles lightly dusted the bridge of her nose under bright green eyes.

And he knew.

It didn't come with a feeling, nor were there any words spoken to his heart; it was just the simple knowledge that he would marry her someday.

_Well, that was unexpected, _he thought. _Lord, could you give me a little warning next time you're going to tell me that a witness is going to be my lifelong companion? Thank You, Lord. Truly, thank You._

"Evelyn," the woman offered, mistaking his fumble for a question. "You can call me Evelyn."

"Yes, Evelyn. Sorry," Chris said, recovering. He stepped forward to offer a handshake. She took his hand daintily, and he noticed how gracefully she moved. Typical traits of high society, but he liked them in her. A smile tugged at his lips, and he resolved to make their first meeting a memorable one.

***

Evelyn smiled as a formality, but inside she was becoming frustrated. Her parents were attending a dinner that evening and had not required her to come. This was a rare occasion, as she was usually expected to join them despite her disinterest. So she had planned her evening of freedom carefully: She would spend an hour or so in prayer and Scripture, about forty-five minutes playing hymns on the grand piano, half an hour putting together a craft for her kindergarten Sunday school class, and twenty minutes working on the dish cloth she was knitting for Mamma Loretta before finally going to bed. There was simply no time for visitors.

But this visitor did not seem to intend to leave any time soon. "Officer Chris Reeves, chief of police," he introduced himself. "Please, sit down. I have some questions for you about what you witnessed around eight o'clock yesterday evening."

Evelyn remained standing. "Do you mean the men who were dumping garbage in our lake?"

"Ma'am, what you witnessed is actually evidence of a homicide. A body was found in the lake this morning."

She shook her head in stubborn denial. "You must be mistaken," she said. "No sensible person would dump a body in our lake. Ours is a safe neighborhood."

"You would call a murderer a 'sensible person,' Miss Hammilton?"

"Of course not," she replied, offended. "But they usually have some common sense."

She saw him write something down on his notepad as he muttered under his breath. She caught a few words and almost dropped her jaw.

"I do not equate murder to greatness!" she exclaimed. If this was the chief of police, she was beginning to feel a lot less safe in her town.

"Never mind that, Miss Hammilton. Now, why don't you tell me what you saw last night?"

His tone was a little too condescending. "I hardly saw anything," she snapped. "Three men and a large bag. That is all. Do you need me to show you the door? I have plans this evening."

"What were you doing at the lake yesterday evening?" he persisted. "Please, Evelyn—"

"It's Miss Hammilton," she corrected briskly, forgoing her friendly introduction.

"Miss Hammilton," he said calmly, "please take a seat. All teasing aside, I have some very serious matters to discuss with you."

So he had been 'teasing'. Evelyn didn't care; she still found the man infuriating, and that after only a few minutes of conversation. Thinking the more quickly they were finished, the better, she sat stiffly in a chair across from him.

"I would have thought serious police business would be much less insulting," she quipped softly.

"You'd be surprised," he said, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his knees. He gave her an uncomfortably piercing stare for a moment, then continued. "Now Miss Hammilton, please tell me what you were doing at the lake yesterday evening."

"I was taking a walk with my friend Bridgette Markkson."

"Do you do this often?"

"Every Monday."

"Every Monday at eight?"

"Every Monday at seven thirty. We walk home at eight fifteen."

Officer Reeves shifted his notepad to his knee and jotted down some notes. As he did so, she noticed how young he looked. His frame filled the dainty chair (she surmised he must worked out quite a bit), and he had a full head of sandy brown locks, except for a slightly receding hairline above his left temple. When he looked back up at her, curiosity got the better of her.

"May I ask you a question, Officer Reeves?"

"No can do," he said a little too cheerfully. "I'm afraid it's my turn to do the questioning tonight."

"I think I deserve a question after how rude you've been," she shot back as she folded her arms across her chest, eyes narrowed.

He paused, considering her for a moment with the same piercing stare, and she noticed his eyes matched the color of his hair almost perfectly. She wondered if he really cared or if he was 'teasing' again.

"Alright," he finally agreed. "One question, Miss Hammilton."

"How are you chief of police? You can't be much older than thirty. I have never heard of a police chief being so young."

"That's quite a long story, Miss Hammilton," he replied. "Are you sure you want to hear it? I know you have plans for the evening, and we have a lot to discuss."

Now Evelyn was very curious. What was so important that he needed to discuss? Hadn't they already discussed what she saw at the lake? She did have her evening planned, and she was already twenty minutes behind schedule, at the very least. But it seemed as though he had much to say and would not let her go until he had said all of it, so was there even a point to thinking she could get things done? Still, she wanted to get as much done as possible. She wished she had more time to make a decision.

"How long will you keep me here, Officer Reeves?" she finally asked.

"A while."

"How long is a while?"

"A while is an undefined period of time."

"Could you possibly provide me with a defined period of time?" She was very quickly growing tired of his games.

"Let's get straight to the matter, shall we?" Officer Reeves said finally. "We'll save my story for another time."

Evelyn considered this for a moment, but by then she was more curious about what he wanted to discuss than about how he came to be chief of police.

"Okay," she said finally. "What is so important that you must interrupt my evening?"

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this one! I told myself I was not allowed to write more until my much-overdue wedding thank-yous were written and sent. Well, they're almost finished, so I think that counts. Sort of. I digress.**

**Thanks to all who have reviewed! I very much appreciate constructive criticism. I have tried to develop Evelyn's and Chris's characters a bit more, so please let me know what you think about that matter. Character development is probably my biggest weakness when it comes to writing, so constructive criticism is definitely welcome. If there are some discrepancies in the details of this chapter and the others, let me know (I am at my in-laws and don't have access to the Internet or the other chapters, so it's difficult to tell.) Thanks for reading! **


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